LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH 
AND OTHER VERSES 



A LITTLE 
BROTHER OF THE RICH 



AND OTHER VERSES 



/ 



BY 

EDWARD SANDFOR 



% 




NEW-YORK 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1890 






Copyright, 1890, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



THE DE VINNE PRESS. 



fnscribeD 

TO 

THE EDITOR OF "THE SUN" 

WITH THE 

SOMEWHAT DISQUIETING CONSCIOUSNESS 

THAT HE KNOWS POETRY 

WHEN HE SEES IT 



CONTENTS. 

A Little Brother of the Rich i 

Procul Negotiis 3 

Fuit Ilium 4 

Epithalamium 6 

Mea Culpa 10 

Again 14 

Snow-bound 16 

To Mabel 18 

In the Elysian Fields 21 

A Second Thought 23 

A Practical Question 25 

Et Tu, Berghe! 26 

Insomnia 27 

Civil Service 28 

All or Nothing 31 

vii 



CONTENTS. 

A Philadelphia Claverhouse 33 

Throwing Stones 35 

Touching Bottom 39 

Honi Soit Qui Mal y Pense ....... 41 

Lochinvar Ex-Colorado 44 

A Mortifying Subject 47 

Mixed 49 

And Was He Right ? 50 

Ballade of the General Term 51 

Infirm .53 



Crumbs and Comfort 



Ashore 



54 



55 



Barter 58 

Beggars' Horses 60 

To-day 62 

Of Mistress Martha: Her Eyes 63 

The Best Gift of All 65 

Autumn 67 

Remorse 69 

Humpty Dum?ty 70 

Retirement . 71 

Self-Sacrifice 73 

What He Wants in His 74 

viii 



CONTENTS. 

Be Kind to Thyself 75 

Lost Light 7 6 

Dated "February the 14TH" 7 8 

Looking On 8o 

Revulsion . 8l 

Folger 8 3 

Grant 8 4 

Ad Sodales .......... 8 5 



A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH 

TO put new shingles on old roofs ; 
To give old women wadded skirts ; 
To treat premonitory coughs 

With seasonable flannel shirts ; 
To soothe the stings of poverty 

And keep the jackal from the door — 
These are the works that occupy 
The Little Sister of the Poor. 

She carries, everywhere she goes, 

Kind words and chickens, jams and coals ; 
Poultices for corporeal woes, 

And sympathy for downcast souls ; 
Her currant jelly — her quinine, 

The lips of fever move to bless. 
She makes the humble sick-room shine 

With unaccustomed tidiness. 



A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH. 

A heart of hers the instant twin 

And vivid counterpart is mine ; 
I also serve my fellow-men, 

Though in a somewhat different line. 
The Poor, and their concerns, she has 

Monopolized, because of which 
It falls to me to labor as 

A Little Brother of the Rich. 

For their sake at no sacrifice 

Does my devoted spirit quail ; 
I give their horses exercise ; 

As ballast on their yachts I sail. 
Upon their Tally Ho's I ride 

And brave the chances of a storm ; 
I even use my own inside 

To keep their wines and victuals warm. 

Those whom we strive to benefit 

Dear to our hearts soon grow to be ; 
I love my Rich, and I admit 

That they are very good to me. 
__ Succor the Poor, my sisters, I, 

While heaven shall still vouchsafe me health, 
Will strive to share and mollify 

The trials of abounding wealth. 



PROCUL NEGOTIIS. 

I THINK that if I had a farm, 
I 'd be a man of sense ; 
And if the day was bright and warm 

I 'd sit upon the fence, 
And calmly smoke a pensive pipe 

And think about my pigs ; 
And wonder if the corn was ripe ; 
And counsel Vhomme qui digs. 

And if the day was wet and cold, 

I think I should admire 
To sit, and dawdle over old 

Montaigne, before the fire ; 
And pity boobies who could lie 

And squabble just for pelf; 
And thank my blessed stars that I 

Was nicely fixed myself. 



FUIT ILIUM. 

WERE you nurtured in the purple ? 
Were you reared a pampered pet ? 
Did a menial throng encircle 

You in waiting while you ate ? 
When a baby had you lockets, 

Silver cups, and forks, and spoons ? 
Were there coins in the pockets 
Of your childhood's pantaloons ? 

Did hereditary shekels 

Make your sweethearts deem you fair — 
Reconcile them to your freckles 

And your carrot-colored hair ? 
In electrifying raiment 

Were you every day attired ? 
Was the promptness of your payment 

Universally admired ? 



FUIT ILIUM. 

Did your father, too confiding, 

Sign the paper of his friends ? 
Did his railway- stock, subsiding, 

Cease to pay him dividends ? 
Are his buildings slow in renting ? 

Did his banker pilfer, slope, 
And absconding leave lamenting 

Creditors to live on hope ? 

Ere you dissipate a quarter 
Do you scrutinize it twice ? 

Have you ceased to look on water- 
Drinking as a nauseous vice ? 

Do you wear your brother's breeches, 
Though the buttons scarcely meet ? 

Does the vanity of riches 

Form no part of your conceit ? 

I am with you, fellow-pauper ! 

Let us share our scanty crust — 
Burst the bonds of fiscal torpor — 

Go where beer is sold on trust ! 
Let us, freed from res a?igust<z, 

Seek some fair Utopian mead 
Where the throat is never dusty, 

And tobacco grows, a weed. 
5 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

THE marriage bells have rung their peal, 
The wedding march has told its story. 
I 've seen her at the altar kneel 

In all her stainless, virgin glory ; 
She 's bound to honor, love, obey, 

Come joy or sorrow, tears or laughter. 
I watched her as she rode away, 
And flung the lucky slipper after. 

She was my first, my very first, 

My earliest inamorata, 
And to the passion that I nursed 

For her I well-nigh was a martyr. 
For I was young and she was fair, 

And always bright and gay and chipper, 
And, oh, she wore such sunlit hair ! 

Such silken stockings ! such a slipper ! 



EPITHALAMWM. 

She did not wish to make me mourn — 

She was the kindest of God's creatures ; 
But flirting was in her inborn, 

Like brains and queerness in the Beechers. 
I do not fear your heartless flirt, 

Obtuse her dart and dull her probe is ; 
But when girls do not mean to hurt, 

But do — Orate time pro nobis ! 

A most romantic country place ; 

The moon at full, the month of August ; 
An inland lake across whose face 

Played gentle zephyrs, ne'er a raw gust. 
Books, boats and horses to enjoy, 

The which was all our occupation ; 
A damsel and a callow boy — • 

There ! now you have the situation. 

We rode together miles and miles, 

My pupil she, and I her Chiron ; 
At home I revelled in her smiles 

And read her extracts out of Byron. 
We roamed by moonlight, chose our stars 

(I thought it most authentic billing), 
Explored the woods, climbed over bars, 

Smoked cigarettes and broke a shilling. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

An infinitely blissful week 

Went by in this Arcadian fashion ; 
I hesitated long to speak, 

But ultimately breathed my passion. 
She said her heart was not her own ; 

She said she 'd love me like a sister ; 
She cried a little (not alone), 

I begged her not to fret, and — kissed her. 

I lost some sleep, some pounds in weight, 

A deal of time and all my spirits, 
And much, how much I dare not state 

I mused upon that damsel's merits. 
I tortured my unhappy soul, 

I wished I never might recover ; 
I hoped her marriage bells might toll 

A requiem for her faithful lover. 

And now she 's married, now she wears 

A wedding ring upon her finger; 
And I — although it odd appears — 

Still in the flesh I seem to linger. 
Lo, there my swallow-tail, and here 

Lies by my side a wedding favor ; 
Beside it stands a mug of beer, 

I taste it — how divine its flavor ! 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

I saw her in her bridal dress 

Stand pure and lovely at the altar ; 
I heard her firm response — that " Yes," 

Without a quiver or a falter. 
And here I sit and drink to her 

Long life and happiness, God bless her ! 
Now fill again. No heel taps, sir ; 

Here 's to — Success to her successor ! 



MEA CULPA. 

THERE is a thing which in my brain, 
Though nightly I revolve it, 
I cannot in the least explain, 

Nor do I hope to solve it. 
While others tread the narrow path 

In manner meek and pious, 
Why is it that my spirit hath 
So opposite a bias ? 

Brought up to fear the Lord, and dread 

The bottomless abysm, 
In Watts's hymns profoundly read 

And drilled in catechism, 
I should have been a model youth, 

The pink of all that 's proper. 
I was not, but — to tell. the truth — 

I never cared a copper. 

IO 



ME A CULPA. 

I had no yearnings when a boy 

To sport an angel's wrapper, 
Nor heard I with tumultuous joy 

The church-frequenting clapper. 
My actions always harmonized 

With my own sweet volition. 
I always did what I devised, 

But rarely asked permission. 

When o'er the holy book I 'd pore 

And read of doings pristine, 
I had a fellow-feeling for 

The put-upon Philistine. 
King David gratified my taste — 

He harped and danced boleros ; 
But first the Prodigal was placed 

Upon my list of heroes. 

I went to school. To study ? No ! 

I dearly loved to dally 
And dawdle over Ivanhoe, 

Tom Brown and Charles O'Malley 
In recitation I was used 

To halt on every sentence ; 
Repenting, seldom I produced 

Fruits proper to repentance. 



ME A CULPA. 

At college, later, I became 

Familiar with my Flaccus, 
Brought incense to the Muses' flame, 

And sacrificed to Bacchus. 
I flourished in an air unfraught 

With sanctity's aroma ; 
Learned many things I was not taught, 

And captured a diploma. 

I am not well provided for, 

I have no great possessions, 
I do not like the legal or 

Medicinal professions, 
Were 1 of good repute I might 

Take orders as a deacon ; 
But I 'm no bright and shining light, 

But just a warning beacon. 

Though often urged by friends sincere 

To woo some funded houri, 
I cannot read my title clear 

To any damsel's dowry. 
And could to wedlock I induce 

An heiress, I should falter, 
For fear that such a bridal noose 

Might prove a gilded halter. 



MEA CULPA. 

My tradesmen have suspicious grown, 

My friends are tired of giving ; 
Upon the cold, cold world I 'm thrown 

To hammer out my living. 
I fear that work before me lies — 

Indeed, I see no option, 
Unless, perhaps, I advertise — 

" An orphan for adoption ! " 

A legacy of misspent time 

Is all that I 'm the heir to ; 
I cannot make my life sublime 

However much I care to. 
And if as now I turn my head 

In retrospect a minute, 
'T is but to recognize my bed, 

Before I lie down in it. 

I am the man that I have been, 

And at the final summing, 
How shall I bear to see sent in 

My score, — one long shortcoming ! 
Unless when all the saints exclaim 

With righteous wrath, " Peccavit / " 
Some mighty friend shall make his claim 

" He suffered, and — amavit ! " 
13 



AGAIN. 

1 WONDER why my brow is burning ; 
Why sleep, to close my eyes forgets ; 
I wonder why I have a yearning 
To smoke incessant cigarettes. 
I wonder why my thoughts will wander, 

And all restraint of mine defy, 
And why — excuse the rhyme — a gander 
Is not more of a goose than I. 

I have an indistinct impression 

I had these symptoms once before, 
And dull discomfort held possession 

Of this same spot that now is sore. 
That some time in a past that ranges 

From early whiskers up to bibs, 
My heart was ringing just such changes 

As now against these selfsame ribs. 



AGAIN. 

I wish some philanthropic Jenner 

Might vaccinate against these ills, 
And help us keep our noiseless tenor 

Of life submissive to our wills ; 
And ere our hearts are permeated 

By sentiments too warm by half, 
That we might be inoculated 

With milder passion from a calf. 



*5 



SNOW-BOUND. 

A law office ; two briefless ones ; a clock strikes. 

JAMES. 

ONE, two, three, four ; it 's four o'clock. 
There comes the postman round the block, 
And in a jiff we '11 hear his knock 

Most pleasant. 
Inform me, Thomas, will he bring 
To you deserving no such thing 
Letters from her whose praises ring 
Incessant ? 

THOMAS. 

Friend of my bosom, James, refrain 
From putting questions fraught with pain, 
And seeking facts I had not fain 

Imparted. 
The said official on this stretch, 
Will not, in my opinion, fetch, 
Such documents to me, a wretch 

Down-hearted. 



SNOW-BOUND. 

JAMES. 

Nay ; but I prithee, Thomas, tell 

To me, thy friend, who loves thee well, 

What cause there is for such a fell 

Deprival. 
Why is it that the message fails ? 
Have broken ties, or twisted rails, 
Or storm, or snow delayed the mail's 

Arrival ? 

THOMAS. 

Thou art, oh, James ! a friend indeed, 
To probe my wound and make it bleed ; 
To know of my affairs thy greed 

Hath no bound. 
The reason why, thou hast not guessed, 
If storm there were, 't was in her breast, 
For there my letter, unexpressed, 

Lies snow-bound. 



'7 



TO MABEL. 

UPON this anniversary, 
My little godchild, aged three, 
My compliments I make to thee, 

Quite heedless. 
And that you '11 throw them now away, 
But treasure them some future day, 
Are platitudes, the which to say 
Is needless. 

You small, stout damsel, muckle mou'd, 
With cropped tow-head and manners rude, 
And stormy spirit unsubdued 

By nurses. 
Where you were raised was it in vogue 
To lisp that Tipperary brogue ? 
Oh, you 're a subject sweet, you rogue, 

For verses ! 



TO MABEL. 

Last Sunday morning when we stayed 

At home you got yourself arrayed 

In Lyman's clothes and turned from maid 

To urchin. 
And when we all laughed at you so, 
You eyed outside the falling snow, 
And thought your rig quite fit to go 

To church in. 

Play on, play on, dear little lass ! 
Play on till sixteen summers pass, 
And then I '11 bring a looking-glass. 

And there be- 
Fore you on your lips I '11 show 
The curves of small Dan Cupid's bow, 
And then the crop that now is " tow " 

Shall " fair "be. 

And then I '11 show you, too, the charms 
Of small firm hands and rounded arms, 
And eyes whose flashes send alarms 

Right through you ; 
And then a half-regretful sigh 
May break from me to think that I, 
At forty years, can never try, 

To woo you. 

19 



TO MABEL. 

What shall I wish you ? Free from ruth, 
To live and learn in love and truth, 
Through childhood's day and days of youth, 

And school's day. 
For all the days that intervene 
Twixt Mab at three and at nineteen, 
Are but one sombre or serene 

All Fools' Day. 



IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 

WHAT ? You here ! Why, old man, I never 
Felt more surprise or more delight ; 
Who would have dreamt that you would ever 

Parade around in robes of white? 
I always thought of you as dodging 

The coals and firebrands somewhere else ; 
And here you are, with board and lodging, 
Where not so much as butter melts. 

Well, well, old man, if you can stand it 

Up here, I '11 never make a fuss ; 
I had forebodings that they 'd planned it 

A little stiff for men like us. 
The boys were much cut up about you, 

You got away so very quick ; 
And, as for me, to do without you 

Just absolutely made me sick. 



IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 

I wish you could have seen us plant you ; 

Why, every man squeezed out a tear, 
And — just imagine us, now, can't you? — 

The gang, and yours the only bier ! 
Fred hammered out some bully verses ; 

We had them printed in the sheet, 
With lines funereal as hearses 

Around them — did n't it look sweet ! 

Halloo ! is that Sir Walter Raleigh ? — 

I wish you 'd point the people out ; 
I want to look at Tom Macaulay ; 

Is Makepeace anywhere about ? 
Where 's Socrates ? Where 's Sydney Carton ?- 

Oh, I forgot he was a myth ; 
If there 's a thing I 've set my heart on 

It is to play with Sydney Smith. 

What ? Glad I came ? I am for certain ; 

The other 's a malarious hole. 
I always pined to draw the curtain, 

And somehow knew I had a soul. 
The flesh — oh, was n't it a fetter ! 

You 'd get so tired of all your schemes ; 
But here, I think, I '11 like it better. 

Oh dear, how natural it seems ! 



A SECOND THOUGHT. 

THIS world 's the worst I ever saw; 
I 'd like to make it better ; 
I 'm going to promulgate the law, 
And hold men to its letter. 
Be respectable and stand 

Esteemed of Mrs. Grundy ; 
Attend to business week-days and 
Read moral books on Sunday. 

On Sabbath keepers, every one, 

Approvingly I smile, and 
Frown on those who spend their Sun- 
Days down at Coney Island. 

Don't play cards, young man ; gobang 

Affords amusement ample.« 
Speak carefully, eschewing slang, 
And set a good example. 
23 



A SECOND THOUGHT. 

The theaters, how bad they be ! 

The players, oh, how vicious ! 

The waltz I shudder when I see, 

And think it most pernicious. 

Shun the wine cup ; don't be led 

To drink by scoff or banter ; 
In the cup lurk pains of head, 
And snakes in the decanter. 

Ah, me ! I wonder if I 'm right ! 
I say, " It 's wrong to do so ! " 
As though, without a soul in sight, 
I ruled alone, like Crusoe. 

Is it that I am partly wrong, 

And partly right, my neighbor, 
And that we get, who toil so long, 
Half truths for all our labor ? 



A PRACTICAL QUESTION 

DARKLY the humorist 
Muses on fate ; 
Ghastly experiment 
Life seems to him, 
Subject for merriment 

Somber and grim ; 

Is it his doom or is 't 

Something he ate ? 



25 



ET TU, BERGHE! 

AND art thou, Bergh, so firmly set 
l\ Against domestic strife, 
As to correct with stripes the man 
Who disciplines his wife ? 

Such action doth not of thy creed 
Appear the normal fruit ; 

Thou shouldst befriend a being who 
Behaves so like a brute ! 



26 



INSOMNIA, 

COME, vagrant sleep, and close the lid 
Upon the casket of my thought ; 
Come, truant, come when thou art bid, 
And let thyself be caught. 

For lonely is the night, and still ; 

And save my own no breath I hear, 
No other mind, no other will, 

Nor heart nor hand is near. 

Thy waywardness what prayer can move ! 

Canst thou by any lure be brought ? 
Or art thou then like woman's love 

That only comes unsought ? 

Up ! Where 's my dressing gown ? My pipe is here. 
Slumber be hanged ! Now for a book and beer. 



CIVIL SERVICE. 

ON Pennsylvania avenue 
He stood and waited for a car; 
He turned to catch a parting view 

Of where the Public Buildings are : 
He looked at them with thoughtful eye ;' 

He took his hat from off his head ; 
He heaved a half-regretful sigh, 
And thus he said : 

" My relative, I do the bidding 

Of Fate, and say to thee good-bye. 
I think thee fortunate at ridding 

Thyself of such a clerk as I. 
Thy sure support, though somewhat meagre, 

Hath much about it to commend ; 
Nor am I now so passing eager 

To leave so provident a friend. 



CIVIL SERVICE. 

" Light was thy yoke could I have borne it 

With tranquil mind and step sedate ; 
Why did my feeble shoulders scorn it 

And seem to crave a heavier weight ? 
Extremely blest is his condition 

Whose needs thy bounteous hands supply. 
If he but fling away ambition 

And let the world go rushing by. 

" Indocilis pauperiem pati, 

I must get out of this damp spot. 
Away ! away ! Whatever fate I 

May have in store, I fear it not. 
Away from all my soul despises, 

From paltry aims, from sordid cares ; 
Fame, honor, love, time's richest prizes, 

Lie waiting for the man who dares. 

" The man who calls no man his master, 

Nor bows his head to tinsel gods ; 
Who faces debt, disease, disaster, 

And never murmurs at the odds ; 
Although his life from its beginning 

Marks only fall succeeding fall, 
Let him fight on and trust to winning 

In death the richest prize of all." 



CIVIL SERVICE. 

He jammed his hat down on his head ; 

He turned from where the Buildings are ; 
Precipitately thence he fled, 

And caught a passing car. 



30 



ALL OR NOTHING. 

HAPPY the man whose far remove 
From business and the giddy throng 
Fits him in the paternal groove 
Unquestioning to glide along. 
Apart from struggle and from strife, 

Content to live by labor's fruits, 
And wander down the vale of life 
In gingham shirt and cowhide boots. 

He too is blessed who, from within, 

By strong and lasting impulse stirred, 
Faces the turmoil and the din 

Of rushing life ; whom hope deferred 
But more incites ; who ever strives, 

And wants, and works, and waits, until 
The multitude of other lives 

Pay glorious tribute to his will. 



ALL OR NOTHING. 

But he who, greedy of renown, 

Is too tenacious of his ease, 
Alas for him ! Nor busy town 

Nor country with his mood agrees ; 
Eager to reap, but loath to sow, 
He longs monstrari digito, 
And looking on with envious eyes, 
Lives restless and obscurely dies. 



32 



A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE. 

TO the fathers in council 't was Witherspoon spoke 
" Our best beloved dogmas we cannot revoke ; 
God's infinite mercy let others record, 
And teach men to trust in their crucified Lord ; 
The old superstitions let others dispel, 
I feel it my duty to go in for Hell ! 

" Perdition is needful; beyond any doubt 
Hell fire is a thing that we can't do without. 
The bottomless pit is our very best claim ; 
To leave it unworked were a sin and a shame ; 
We imist keep it up, if we like it or not, 
And make it eternal and make it red-hot. 

" To others the doctrine of love may be dear — 
I own I confide in the doctrine of fear; 
There 's nothing, I think, so effective to make 
Our weak fellow mortals their errors forsake, 

33 



A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE. 

As to tell them abruptly, with unchanging front, 
• You '11 be damned if you do ! You '11 be damned if you 
don't ! ' 



Saltpetre and pitchforks, with brimstone and coals, 

Are arguments suited to rescue men's souls. 

A new generation forthwith must arise 

With Beelzebub pictured before their young eyes ; 

They '11 be brave, they '11 be true, they '11 be gentle and 

kind, 
Because they '11 have Satan forever in mind." 



34 



THROWING STONES. 

I LOVE my child," the actress wrote; 
" My duty is to guide 
The child I bore ; and in my arms 

The child I love shall hide — 
Shall hide from missiles cast at me, 

Because I have so odd 
A conscience that I choose to rear 
The child I took from God." 

There is a sin from which us all 

May gracious Heaven guard, 
That is its own worst punishment, 

Itself its sole reward. 
And of it social law has said 

To man : "If sin you must, 
Go, then, and come again, but leave 

The woman in the dust ! " 

35 



THROWING STONES. 

Ah ! who can know, save Him Allwise 

Who watches from above, 
The awful hazard women dare 

To run for men they love ; 
Or tell how many a craven heart, 

To shield his own bad name, 
Has caused a woman's trustful love 

To bring her lasting shame ? 

To her who, when the dream has passed, 

Finds herself left alone, 
And in her crushed, repentant heart, 

A yearning to atone, 
Heaven, more pitiful than man 

Who erst upon her smiled, 
By love to win her to itself 

May send a little child. 

Then, if the lonely mother's heart 

Accepts the gracious gift ; 
And if the charge she dared to take 

She does not dare to shift : 
Shall we, untempted and untried, 

To ease and virtue born, 
Visit upon her shrinking head 

Our unrelenting scorn ? 
36 



THROWING STONES. 

We, who have all our lives been taught 

Truths other men have learned, 
And walked by what celestial light 

In other bosoms burned ; 
We, whose sublimest duty is 

To do as we are bid ; 
How shall we judge a soul from which 

The face of God is hid ? 

Know you the loneliness of heart 

That courts release from death ? 
That makes it burdensome to draw 

Each slow, successive breath ? 
That longs for human sympathy, 

Until, when hope is lost, 
A respite from its agony 

It buys at any cost? 

Of erring human nature, we 

Are born, each with his share ; 
We all are vain ; we all are weak, 

And quick to fly from care. 
And if we keep our footing, 

Or seem to rise at all, 
' T were well for us with charity 

To look on those who fall. 

37 



THROWING STONES. 

And if our hands are strengthened, 

And if our lips can speak, 
'T were well if with them we might help 

Our brothers who are weak; 
And well if we remember 

God's love is never grudged, 
And never sit in judgment, 

If we would not be judged. 



TOUCHING BOTTOM. 

I THINK that I have somewhere read 
About a man whose foolish head, 
By mischievous intention led, 

A sprite 
Had with an ass's visage decked, 
That all who met him might detect 
His intellectual defect 

At sight. 

The trite remark of man and book 
That many men are men in look, 
But donkeys really, thus the spook 

Reversed ; 
The victim of the imp's design 
Had such a head as yours or mine, 
Although his did seem asinine 

At first. 

39 



TOUCHING BOTTOM. 

But Love — I think the story ran — 
Was proof against the fairy's plan, 
Discerning through the mask the man, 

Perhaps ; 
Or, is it true that women try, 
But very faintly, to descry 
Long ears on heads that occupy 

Their laps ! 

I know a youth whose fancy gropes 
For headgear finer than the Pope's, 
So him his bright and treacherous hopes 

Delude ; 
But, in the mirror of his fears, 
When this too sanguine person peers, 
Alas ! behold the jackass ears 

Protrude ! 

Titania, mine, if I could find 

You always to my follies blind, 

So great content would rule my mind 

Within, 
That even though myself aware 
Of pointed ears adorned with hair, 
I do not think that I would care 

A pin. 
40 



HONI SOIT CLUI MAL Y PENSE, 

IT was my happy lot to meet 
Upon a late occasion, 
While seeking of the summer's heat 

Agreeable evasion, 
By visiting at a resort 

Of fashion — where, no matter — 
A maid whom there was none to court, 
And very few to flatter. 

Her head had not the graceful poise 

Of Aphrodite's statue ; 
Her hair reminded you of boys ; 

Her nose was pointed at you. 
A Derby hat, the self-same sort 

The fashionable male owes 
Money for, she used to sport 

As angels do their halos. 



HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 

She seldom walked in silk attire, 

But commonly in flannel : 
Not yet in oils did she aspire 

To figure on a panel ; 
Because she could not help but see 

She was not tall nor slender ; 
Nor did she deem her curves to be 

Superlatively tender. 

Some prudish dames did her abuse 

With censure fierce and scathing ; 
Because she, happening to lose 

Her stocking while in bathing, 
Deemed such a loss of little note, 

And simply tied the plagued 
Stocking 'round her little throat 

And reappeared barelegged. 

I do not think that for the pelf 

Of eligible boobies, 
Or for the chance to deck herself 

With diamonds and rubies, 
Or for her standing in the books 

Of prim and proper ladies, 
Or for their disapproving looks, 

She cared a hoot from Hades. 



HON I SO IT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 

Though competent to hold her tongue, 

When circumstance demanded 
Speech, she was, for one so young, 

Astonishingly candid. 
She sang the vulgarest of songs, 

Which sung by her were funny, 
And never brooded o'er her wrongs — 

Nor hoarded up her money. 

'T is true this careless damsel's fame 

At last grew somewhat shady ; 
But if the man disposed to name 

Her fast, or not a lady, 
Will in the present writer's way 

Considerately toddle, 
This writer thinks that person may 

Get punched upon his noddle. 



LOCHINVAR EX-COLORADO. 

OH, the cow-puncher Budge has come in from the West 
In all Colorado his ranch is the best ; 
And, barring a toothbrush, he baggage had none, 
For he came in some haste, and he came not for fun ; 
Nor vigils nor gold to his quest doth he grudge — 
On an errand of love comes the cow-puncher Budge. 

A telegram reached him ; he called for a horse. 
He rode ninety miles as a matter of course ; 
The last twenty-seven he galloped, and then 
Just caught the Atlantic Express at Cheyenne. 
He stayed not to eat nor to drink, for he knew 
He could pick up a meal on the C. B. & O. 

He got to Chicago the second day out, 
But right through Chicago he kept on his route, 
Nor stayed to buy linen, not even a shirt ; 
He liked flannel best and he did n't mind dirt. 



LOCHINI/AR EX-COLORADO. 

With trousers tucked into his boots, said he " Fudge ! — 
Small odds — if I get there," said bold Robert Budge. 

From Worth, the Parisian of awful repute, 

Had come divers gowns to Angelica Bute, 

And parcels from Tiffany daily were stowed 

Away in strong rooms of her father's abode ; 

But she languished, nor heeded she hint, cough or nudge ; 

She was bound to Fitz James, but she cottoned to Budge. 

But hark ! 'T is the door-bell ! a symptom of joy 
Lights her eye — " Ah ! at last ! " 'T is a telegraph boy ; 
The maid brings a message; she takes it, half dead 
With mingled excitement, hope, eagerness — dread: 
" Mayor's house on Thursday, at nine ; let me judge 
What next ! only meet 7ne there. 

Faithfully, 

Budget 

On Thursday at nine, to the house of the Mayor 

Two persons came singly, but left it a pair, 

A man and a bride in a travelling dress, 

Went Westward at ten on the lightning express. 

A wedding at Grace Church, which should have occurred 

At twelve, was, for reasons not given, deferred. 

45 



LOCH IN FAR EX-COLORADO. 

The dowagers called it the greatest of shames. 

The men said, " It 's rough on that fellow Fitz James " ; 

The damsels declared it was awfully nice, 

And vowed they could do it and never think twice. 

It 's a chore to get housemaids ; you may have to drudge 

At the start ; but — I love you," said cow-puncher Budge. 



46 



A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 

WHAT is to be, I do not know : 
What is I do esteem 
To be so undesirable 

And worthless, that I deem 
There must be something good in store, 

Something to keep in view, 
To compensate us living here, 
For living as we do. 

For life — oh life, it seems a chore ! 

Its surface is so blurred 
By cares and passions that it makes 

One long to be interred ; 
To occupy a tranquil spot 

Some seven feet by two, 
And just serenely lie and rot, 

With nothing else to do. 

47 



A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 

I think that when there ceased to be 

Sufficient tenement 
To hold my conscience, then I would 

Begin to be content. 
And if I should be there to see 

My stomach take its leave, 
I 'd gather up my mouldering shroud 

And chuckle in my sleeve. 

I think that when the greedy worm 

Began upon my brains, 
I 'd wish him luck, and hope he 'd get 

His dinner for his pains. 
I 'd warn him that they would be apt 

With him to disagree, 
For if they fed him well 't were what 

They seldom did for me. 

But when I should be certain that 

My scarred and battered heart 
Was of my corporality 

Not any more a part, 
Though I 'd no voice, I *d rattle in 

My throat, with joyous tones ; 
And with no feelings left, I would 

Feel happy in my bones. 



MIXED. 

WITHIN my earthly temple there 's a crowd. 
There one of us that 's humble ; one that 's proud. 
There 's one that 's broken-hearted for his sins, 
And one who, unrepentant, sits and grins. 
There 's one who loves his neighbor as himself, 
And one who cares for naught but fame and pelf. 
From much corroding care would I be free 
If once I could determine which is me. 



49 



AND WAS HE RIGHT? 

" T 'M going to marry — not you," she said, 
1 " But a better fellow in your stead. 
You 're not so bad — not bad at all ; 
I 'd like to keep you within my call, 
But not to take you for good and all. 
I 'm going to live on yonder street ; 
Do you live near me," she said ; "so sweet 
As I '11 be to you whenever we meet ! 
And in my house there '11 be a seat 
Where you can sit and warm your feet, 
And your contentment shall be complete — 
Come ! Is n't it a divine conceit ? " 

She said. 

Softly his breast a sigh set free : 
He said, " Dear Heart, it may not be. 
Not for the perfume of the rose 
Would I live near to where it grows. 
If not for me the bud has blown, 
I 'd rather leave the flower alone. 
Who by the bush sits down forlorn 
Is only fit to feel the thorn," 

He said. 
50 



BALLADE OF THE GENERAL TERM. 

EACH in his high official chair; 
One who presides ; two plain J. J. 
Decent of mien and white of hair 
% They sit there judging all the day. 
The gravity of what they say 
Bent brows and sober tones confirm ; 
Brown, Jones and Robinson are they, 
Justices of the General Term. 

I see the learned counsel there 
Rise up and argue, move and pray ; 
Attorneys with respectful air 
Their perspicacity display. 
Serenely joyous if they may 
Of justice keep alive the germ ; 
Motion and argument tluy weigh 
Those justices of General Term. 



BALLADE OF THE GENERAL TERM. 

That court I haunt, not that I care 
For justice in a general way; 
Nor yet because I hope to share 
With anyone a client's pay. 
The reason why I there delay 
And on the court's hard benches squirm 
Is that of Love I am the prey — 
Her father's of the General Term. 

ENVOY. 

I look at him with dire dismay — 
Scorched by his eye I seem a worm. 
" Dismissed with costs," is what he '11 say- 
That Justice of the General Term. 



INFIRM. 

< T WILL not go," he said, " for well 
1 I know her eyes' insidious spell, 
And how unspeakably he feels 
Who takes no pleasure in his meals. 
I know a one-idea'd man 
Should undergo the social ban, 
And if she once my purpose melts 
I know I '11 think of nothing else, 

" I care not though her teeth are pearls - 
The town is full of nicer girls ! 
I care not though her lips are red — 
It does not do to lose one's head ! 
I '11 give her leisure to discover, 
For once, how little I think of her ; 
And then, how will she feel ? " cried he 
And took his hat and went to see. 



53 



CRUMBS AND COMFORT. 

LET no man, irked by tedious fate, 
j The worth of victuals underrate ; 
But thankful be if so he may 
Environ three square meals a day ; 

For, barring drink, there 's naught so good, 
Up to its limit's edge, as food. 

Up to its limit ? Yes, but will 

Food satisfy as well as fill ? 

Hear humankind responsive groan — 

Man cannot live by bread alone ! " 

Oh, tell me, Sibyl, tell me whether 

A man might live on bread — together ! 



54 



ASHORE. 

Mail's happiness depends upon the views 
He takes of circumstances that he's in. 

To some it is a greater joy to lose 
Than it, to others, ever is to win. 

SINCE our poor hopes, like vessels tempest tossed, 
Are duly wrecked, and all illusion ceases; 
Now that the game is up, let 's count the cost, 
And estimate the value of the pieces. 

And first, our heart : It was a flimsy thing 
Already when we dared this last adventure ; 

And if it 's flimsy still — why that should bring 
No added liability to censure. 

A serviceable organ is it still, 

That does our turn in absence of a better ; 
And very shortly, we believe, it will 

As calmly thump as though we 'd never met her. 



ASHORE. 

If tissues are so delicately spun 

As not to stand a reasonable racket, 
Their anxious owner has as little fun 

As Master Thomas in his Sunday jacket. 

Give tender hearts to those who like that kind, 
And gain in strength with every pang they suffer; 

We praise that sort, but with relief we find 

That ours is tough and yearly growing tougher. 

Our head remains the same indifferent pate, 
Guiltless alike of learning and of laurels. 

We notice, though, with thankfulness, of late 
A measure of improvement in our morals. 

Our purse was always lean, so it amounts 
To little that it yet remains depleted ; 

Though florists' and confectioners' accounts 
Are in, and payment of the same entreated. 

We 've lost a heap of time, but being rid 
Of time, one always gets along without it. 

Could we have spent it better than we did ! 
Another might ; but, for ourself, we doubt it. 

56 



ASHORE. 

And we have learned — nothing. We knew before 

The folly and the vanity of wooing : 
And if we chose to try it still once more, 

'T was not to win, but simply to be doing. 

It was not that we hoped to gain a heart ; 

That that were vain required no further proving. 
It only meant that souls that live apart 

Yield sometimes to the human need of loving. 

Is this the last ? While yet his garments drip 
The stranded mariner forgets his pain, 

And rescuing the remnants of his ship, 
Already plans to make them float again. 



BARTER. 

YES, there 's a hole ; you need n't be 
At pains to point it out to me : 
I know it. 
I do not claim the piece is whole, 
Or that its yard of width is full : 
I merely show it. 

Fast color ? Do I really think 
That being soaked it will not shrink 

When dried ? 
Now that I Ve got it off the shelf, 
You 'd better test the dyes yourself, 

And so decide. 

Cotton ? I dare surmise it 's full 

Of threads that one might wish were wool, 

If wishing did it. 
Look sharp ; but if through being blind 
Some flaw or fault you fail to find, 

Don't say I hid it. 
58 



BARTER. 

The price is high ? You think it so ? 
Well, this is not, I 'd have you know, 

A bankrupt sale. 
These wares of mine if you despise, 
Some other dealer's merchandise 
May find more favor in your eyes; 
To hold mine over for a rise 

I shall not fail. 



59 



BEGGARS' HORSES. 

I WISH that altitude of tone, 
The waistband's due expansion, 
The faculty to hold one's own 

In this and t' other mansion ; 
And shirts and shoes and moral force, 

Topcoats and overgaiters, 
Were things that always came of course 
To philosophic waiters. 

I wish that not by twos and threes, 

In squads and plural numbers, 
Young women would destroy one's ease 

Of mind and rout one's slumbers ; 
But that if by a poor heart's squirms 

Their pleasures know accession, 
They 'd hold it for successive terms 

In several possession. 
60 



BEGGARS' HORSES. 

I wish I had been changed at birth, 

And in my place maturing 
Some infant of surpassing worth, 

Industrious past curing, 
Had grown up subject to my share 

In Father Adam's blunder, 
And left me free to pile up care 

For him to stagger under. 

I wish that some things could be had 

Without foregoing others ; 
That all the joys that are not bad 

Were not weighed down with bothers. 
We can but wonder as we test 

The scheme of compensations, 
Is happiness with drawbacks best, 

Or grief with consolations. 



TO-DAY. 

SEE that what burdens Heaven may lay 
Upon your shrinking neck to-day, 
To-day you bear ; 
Nor seek to shun their weary weight, 
Nor, bowed with dread, anticipate 
To-morrow's care. 

Not with too great a load shall Fate, 
That knows the end, your shoulders freight 

Or heart oppress ; 
If but to-day's appointed work 
You grapple with, nor wish to shirk 

Its due distress. 

The coward heart that turns away 
From present tasks, with justice may 

Forebodings fill. 
Fools try to quaff to-morrow's wine ; 
As though to-morrow's sun could shine 

Unrisen still. 
62 



OF MISTRESS MARTHA: HER EYES 

TRANSFIXED and spitted in my heart 
By Mistress Martha's eyes, their dart, 
Which has within me raised a great 
Commotion and uneasy state. 

Or are they black or are they blue 
I know not any more than you, 
Nor could I for a wager say 
If they be hazel, brown or gray. 

But when it comes to diagnosis 
Of what the outcome of their use is 
Full, comprehensive and exact 
Is my conception of the fact. 
63 



OF MISTRESS MARTHA: HER EYES. 

When first their witchery has begun 
You might be saved if you would run : 
But who would look for cause for fear 
In depths so limpid, calm and clear. 
Too soon, poor fool, you find you 've stayed 
Till it 's too late to be afraid. 

Alas for him who thus misreckons 
For friendly lights mistaking beacons. 
Better it were if he had found 
Clarence, his fate, in Malmsey drowned, 
Than Mistress, in thine eyes to sink, 
Nor make a tear o'erflow its brink. 



64 



THE BEST GIFT OF ALL. 

ONE-AND-TWENTY, one-and-twenty, 
Youth and beauty, lovers plenty ; 
Health and riches, ease and leisure, 
Work to give a zest to pleasure ; 
What can a maid so lucky lack ? 
What can I wish that Fate holds back ? 

Youth will fade and beauty wanes ; 
Lovers, flouted, break their chains. 
Health may fail and wealth may fly you, 
Pleasures cease to satisfy you ; 
Almost everything that brings 
Happiness is born with wings. 

This I wish you — this is best : 
Love that can endure the test ; 
Love surviving youth and beauty, 
Love that blends with homely duty, 
Love that 's gentle, love that 's true, 
Love that 's constant wish I you. 
65 



THE BEST GIFT OF ALL. 

Still unsatisfied she lives 

Who for gold mere silver gives. 

One more joy I wish you yet, 

To give as much love as you get. 

Grant you, heaven, this to do, 

To love him best who best loves you. 



66 



AUTUMN. 

I HAVE sundry queer sensations 
When the year gets round to Autumn. 
What they are, and how I caught 'em 
Is obscure, but they are there — 
Certain gay exhilarations 

Half-and-half, as Bass with Guinness, 
With a sad what-might-have-been-ness 
In the brisk September air. 

Back come hopes and young ambitions 
With the golden-rod and sumach, 
But impregnated with true Mach- 
iavellian despair. 
Taking note of changed conditions ; 
Weighing powers with limitations I 
Facts with futile aspirations 
Born of bracing autumn air. 
6 7 



AUTUMN. 

Now I see myself grown famous, 
Bold of voice and free of gesture, 
Grave, superb, of stunning vesture 
Flood with eloquence the court. 
Soon ascends my Gaudeamus 
As I realize there are n't 
Any facts that seem to warrant 
Premonitions of that sort. 

Welcome each hallucination : 

Welcome, none the less, discerning 
Common sense in time returning 
To obliterate the spell. 
As a means of elevation — 
As a sort of moral derrick 
This autumnal, atmospheric 
Spirit-hoister bears the bell. 



63 



REMORSE. 

MY spirit sits in ashes, heaping dust upon its head ; 
I 've said a silly thing, and now it cannot be unsaid. 
What boots it that to only two the wretched truth is 

known, 
If of the conscious pair who know it I myself am one ? 

I have my doubts — more doubts the more I think of what 

I said — 
If, really, half a loaf is so much better than no bread ; 
For if a person is an ass, and duly bound to show it, 
Cold comfort 't is that he should have just sense enough to 

know it. 



fa 



HUMPTY DUMPTY. 

THEY say that folks who perch upon the brink 
Of canon deep or awful precipice 
A morbid impulse feel as back they shrink, 

To jump the edge off into the abyss; 
And now and then some feather-head will dash 
Over the cliff to fundamental smash. 
So often with a man when he has won 

The passing favor of a maid demure, 
Not satisfied with having well begun, 

And over-eager to make all secure, 
Blind to his fate and heedless of his stops, 
With mad, spasmodic previousness, he pops. 

Poor, dizzy fool ; instead of winning more 

He only loses what he had before. 



RETIREMENT. 

NAY, do not ask why I who late 
First in the giddy throng disported, 
Now choose the solitary state 

And live alone unmissed, uncourted. 
Is it so strange that sometimes man 

His own poor company should cherish ? 
Must I go on as I began 

And dance, whoever pipes, or perish ? 

It may be that some stocks I had 

At lower figures now are quoted. 
It may be that my liver 's bad ; 

It may be that my tongue is coated. 
It may be that malarial pains 

Are of the ills my flesh inherits — 
That fever rages in my veins 

And chills disintegrate my spirits. 



RETIREMENT. 

It may be that my friends are dead ; 

It may be that my foes are not ; 
Colds may have settled in my head, 

My coppers may be always hot. 
It may be that I feel above 

My peers, and think myself a swell ; 
It may be that I 'm crossed in love ; 

It may be that I will not tell. 

I own I find a mean relief, 

Confining to myself my dealings ; 
A cheap community of grief 

Between me and my battered feelings, 
I shun the haunts of happier men ; 

Their mirth my misery increases; 
My little bark is wrecked again 

And I am busy with the pieces. 



72 



SELF-SACRIFICE. 

SHE said, " I admire and approve you, 
My intellect's voice is for you ; 
But when you entreat me to love you, 

I own I 'm at loss what to do. 
How I wish that on one or the other 

My heart and my head might agree ; 

I esteem you so much ! but — Oh, bother ! 

My heart's choice is Barney McGee." 

Which the reason is why dissipation 

Has ravaged the bloom from my cheek, 
And nothing but liquid damnation 

Has slipped past my lips for a week. 
Since, I hope, as depravity marks me, 

To make him by contrast so shine 
That all her approval may his be, 

And her love irretrievably mine. 



73 



WHAT HE WANTS IN HIS. 

I DO not ask thee, Fate, to bake 
For me so very large a cake ; 
Choose thou the size — but I entreat 
That though but small, it shall be sweet. 
Let those who like it have it, I 
Feel no desire for sawdust pie. 

I have no wail for all the years 

I Ve lived on crusts washed down with tears. 

If I must drain the bitter cup 

As heretofore, why — fill it up. 

But when my cake, if ever, comes, 
Vouchsafe it to me full of plums ! 



74 



BE KIND TO THYSELF. 

COMES the message from above — 
" As thyself, thy neighbor, love." 
With myself so vexed I grow — 
Of my weakness weary so, 
Easier may I tolerate 
My neighbor than myself not hate. 

Take not part of thee for whole, 

Thou art neighbor to thy soul; 

The ray from heaven that gilds the clod 
Love thou, for it comes from God. 

Bear thou with thy human clay 

Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray. 



75 



LOST LIGHT. 

1 CANNOT make her smile come back - 
That sunshine of her face 
That used to make this worn earth seem, 

At times, so gay a place. 
The same dear eyes look out at me ; 

The features are the same ; 
But, oh, the smile is out of them, 
And I must be to blame ! 

Sometimes I see it still. I went 

With her the other day 
To meet a long-missed friend, and while 

We still were on the way, 
Her confidence in waiting love 

Brought back for me to see 
The old-time love-light to her eyes 

That will not shine for me. 
7 6 



LOST LIGHT. 

They tell me money waits for me, 

And reputation, too. 
I like those gewgaws quite as well 

As other people do, 
•But I care not for what I have, 

Nor lust for what I lack 
One tithe as much as my heart longs 

To call that lost light back. 

Come back, dear banished smile, come back, 

And into exile drive 
All thoughts, and aims, and jealous hopes, 

That in thy stead would thrive. 
Who wants the earth without its sun, 

And what has life for me 
That 's worth a thought, if, as its price, 

It leaves me stript of thee ? 



DATED "FEBRUARY THE 14TH." 

T~y LES T be St. Valentine, his day, 

JL~J That gives a man a chance to say 

What shall his state of mind disclose, 

As much as though he should propose. 

Dear Maid : I 'd offer you this minute 
My hand, but lo ! there 's nothing in it. 
Enmeshed my heart by your dear lures is, 
But I 'm forbid to ask where yours is. 

And why ? Why, dear, at twenty-three 
A man is what he 's going to be ; 
Futures are actual in one's head, 
But /.mess is what women wed. 
Clients nor patients, nor their fees, 
Your slave at three-and-twenty sees, 
And girls with nineteen-year-old blushes 
Are birds he must leave in the bushes. 
78 



DATED "FEBRUARY THE 14TH." 

Yet somehow feelings don't agree 
With circumstances : Look at me 
With naught in hand and all to get, 
Rapping at Fortune's gate — and yet 
In spite of all I know, and see, 
And listen to, I could not be 
More hopelessly in love with you 
If I were rich and sixty-two. 

That 's all : It 's nothing that you '11 find 
Important, but it 's off my mind. 
If one must boil and keep it hid 
The long year through, to blow the lid 
Off once helps some, and one may gain 
Patience therefrom to stand the pain 
Until the calendar's advance 
Gives suffering hearts another chance. 



79 



LOOKING ON. 

THE dolcefar niente is a delightful game 
If only he can spare the time who plays it. 
If one is three-and-twenty and does n't covet fame, 
And cares less what he says than how he says it — 
If one deliberately can (and never think it loss) 
Earn women's smiles in hours in which he might be 

earning dross — 
If one can be content to sit and watch, year after year, 
The world's great ships go sailing by, and never want to 

steer — 
If one is not aware that standing still means slipping back, 
Or if one 's not averse to retrograding on one's track — 
The dolcefar niente is a delightful game 
For people who have lives to spare to play it. 



80 



REVULSION. 

THE very bones of me rebel ; 
I cannot be resigned ; 
I am so all-too-tired-to-tell, 

Of being so refined. 
My instincts are too nasty nice, 

I 'd rather be more brute, 
And not so easy to disgust, 
And difficult to suit. 

My fun is all a razor-edge 

And needle-point affair, 
That has no substance back of it. 

My very woes are spare, 
And decorous, and qualified. 

A robust grief to me, 
With groans, and tears, and takings on, 

Would be a luxury. 

81 



REVULSION. 

I vow I 'm going to learn to chew, 

And navy plug, what 's more ; 
I 'm going to wear a gingham shirt, 

And spit right on the floor. 
Cravats and collars I '11 abjure, 

A slouch shall be my hat, 
My diet pork, with cabbage (boiled), 

And beer — bock-beer at that ! 

I '11 learn to drive a speedy nag, 

And laugh a boisterous laugh; 
To down men bluntly in dispute, 

Or shut them up with chaff. 
I 'd go to Congress if I could, 

And since I can't go there, 
I 'd gladly be an alderman 

Or even run for mayor. 

I cannot stand it any more, 

My culture 's not the stuff; 
For though it 's pretty to be nice, 

It 's wholesome to be tough. 
Perhaps when I 've grown coarser-grained, 

I '11 have less cause to sigh, 
At finding that my fellows have 

So much more fun than I. 



FOLGER. 

HE died in harness, like the brave 
Old warrior he was, who dared 
To lead a hopeless charge, nor spared 
His strength, nor sought himself to save. 

His learning freights the lawyer's shelf; 
Praise him who played so high a part ! 
But honor more the loyal heart 
That calmly sacrificed itself. 

It is not ours to choose what prize 
Our manhood's hopes shall satisfy ; 
That we must leave to destiny, 
And work out that which in us lies, 

Content, if justly may be carved 
Upon the slab our dust that guards, 
Not a mere list of earth's rewards, 
But nobler tribute, this : " He served." 

83 



GRANT. 

NO faultless man was he whose work is done. 
It is not giv'n men to be wholly wise: 
Still shall our deeds be sometimes ill-advised, 
While in our veins still human blood shall run. 
But sundered States, now one again, attest 
That what he gave his country was his best. 

'Spoiled of his fortune, rifled of his ease, 

Above all ills his stubborn spirit rose. 

Declining proffered affluence, he chose — 

Though wrung with pain and weakened by disease — 
That his own shoulders should support the weight 
Of woe laid on them by ungentle fate. 

The silent soldier ; not with fulsome gaud 

May we oppress the chaplet that he wears. 

Freed from his pain, nor hears he now nor cares 

If men his fame disparage or applaud. 

Of his renown be this the mighty meed — 
He served his country in his country's need. 
8 4 



AD SODALES. 

Read at a supper of the Class of 1877, Harvard College, 
June 27, 1882. 

IS it a dream ! Can it be true 
That we, un galled by business fetters. 
Four careless years once loitered through, 

Sojourners in the home of letters ! 
Beyond a doubt it is a fact 

Well ascertained and well attested : 
The classic shades, though not intact, 
Are still the shades that we infested. 

Across from Holyoke House still bloom 

Horse-chestnut trees with fragrant blossom ; 
Old Jarvis Field is still the home 

Of balls, and men who love to toss 'em. 
The shriek of car-wheel rounding curve, 

The listener's blood still duly curdles ; 
Their graceful height the elms preserve, 

Oblivious to their tarry girdles. 
85 



AD SODALES. 

And still across the winding Charles 

Come shells, and smells, and rapid barges ; 
The Freshman still, in force at Carl's, 

His knowledge of the world enlarges. 
The Sophomore is still assured 

That wisdom with himself shall perish ; 
To Clubs the Junior still is lured ; 

Still tender fancies Seniors cherish. 

But yesterday, and we, like these, 

Were nursing our jejune affections, 
And putting in for our degrees, 

And squabbling over class elections. 
That Class Day night, — the window-seat, 

From which all thought of else was banished 
While She sat there, so dear — so sweet — 

Ah ! since that night five years have vanished ! 

Another grinds where once we ground ; 

Another loafs where once we idled ; 
And others still cavort around 

With spirits — like our's were — unbridled. 
New fellows now presume to woo 

New girls, whose charms we never wot of; 
New scouts there are and goodies too, 

A whole new world that we are not of. 

86 



AD SODALES. 

But still, when dismal howls the wind, 

And sweeps the rain in gusts and flurries, 
When he who walks looks not behind 

But turns his collar up and hurries, — 
On certain granite blocks is brought 

To light, an ancient legend,* showing 
Where, in the days we knew, 't was thought 

The University was going. 

And was it going there, or can 

There truly be a place infernal 
Where Justice takes it out of man 

For transient sins by pains eternal ? 
I do not know ! It is not worth 

One's while to disinter dead issues ; 
I know that what make Hell of Earth 

Are weakened wills and worn-out tissues. 

And to these mundane hells, they say, 
The paths that lead at first are cheerful 

And bright, but further on, the way, 
If still pursued, grows dark and fearful. 

* Note. — On the front of University Hall appeared one morn- 
ing the inscription, " The University is Going to Hell." It was 
scrubbed off, but is still legible in clamp weather. 

8 7 



AD SODALES. 

It may be some of us did get 

Too far along — I do not say so — 

But — Well ! we '11 do to pray for yet : 
We are survivors : let us stay so. 

The voices of the gentlest tone, 

The truest eyes, and hearts the kindest ; 
The minds most conscious of their own 

Shortcomings, and to ours the blindest ; 
Ah ! one by one, and year by year, 

Beneath the graveyard's grassy hummocks 
We see them laid, and we meet here, 

Worse men, perhaps, with better stomachs. 

Death, Flaccus says, with equal kick 

Salutes the door of prince and peasant; 
Nor comes he slower or more quick 

If life be burdensome or pleasant. 
'T is fit that in his steps should tread 

Sweet Charity, the all-forgiving 
Nil nisi bonum of the dead : 

Be all our censure for the living. 

We, who are left, be ours to keep 
Our harnesses from getting rusty; 

What wit we have from going to sleep ; 
Our wisdom from becoming musty : 



AD SODALES. 

To catch the rein our fellow drops, 
Mount, and in action growing bolder, 

Reck not that at the crupper stops 

His Care with ours, behind our shoulder. 

And though we realize what dross 

And fleeting things our hearts are set on ; 
How much of seeming gain is loss ; 

How many truths we dare not bet on ; 
Regret the protoplastic germs 

That launched us in this higgle piggle, 
And feel ourselves but wriggling v/orms, 

Still, being worms, — do let us wriggle. 

Who scorns, for aught the world can give, 

To stoop to lie, or trick, or juggle ; 
Who knows that he has got to live 

Though only pain rewards the struggle ; 
Who nurses to their fullest growth 

The talents to his care committed, 
And runs his race, and nothing loath, 

Be he who may against him pitted, — 

He acts the man, and though the prize 
May not reward his long endeavor ; 

Though at the goal which lured his eyes 
He comes too late, perhaps, or never; 

89 



AD SODALES. 

Still day by day by what he does 
He forms the fact by which to grade him. 

'T was not Sardanapalus, 't was 
Leonidas, whose venture paid him. 

Perhaps your poet's jester's cap 

But ill conceals a care-worn wrinkle ; 
The bells he rattles have, mayhap, 

Too, too lugubrious a tinkle ; 
Fill then each glass, and join with me 

In wine for just such uses given, 
To whoop her up, with three-times three 

And bumpers all for Seventy-Seven ! 

Our Alma Mater's naughty child, 

Whose conscience never seemed to quicken ; 
Whom even now she calls her wild- 

Est, most disreputable chicken : 
Whose conduct with a wish to please 

Had seldom much that was in keeping ; 
Who sowed, Ah me ! a lively breeze, — 

Heaven send no whirlwinds for our reaping, - 

But grant that while our heads grow cool, 
Our hearts beat still a genial patter ; 

That with increased regard for rule, 

And pocketbooks grown somewhat fatter, 
9° 



AD SODALES. 

The sluggish mass of things to be 
May find in us a sprightly leaven ; 

To make it lighter and more free. 
I give — the Class of Seventy-Seven. 



T ■ 



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